


Digging Your (Own) Grave

by bombve



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Saw (Movies)
Genre: Amanda Young has BPD and Stockhold Syndrome, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombve/pseuds/bombve
Summary: Sleep is seen as an escape, but in the Entity? It's only a way to pass the time.For Amanda Young, the Pig, the Swine, it's only a reminder of what shes done.





	Digging Your (Own) Grave

**Author's Note:**

> Created with the prompt 'In All My Dreams I Drown' for my DBD discord RP group!
> 
> I love writing Amanda Young sm. SMH

Most find comfort in the lull of the Entity’s whispers, coaxing them to sleep with promises of comfort and rest that will never come, a trap that’s repeated night by night in the void that both Killer and Survivor succumb to.

 

Amanda defies the sleep with as much might as her Entity-touched body will allow.

 

She will not sleep, she can’t sleep, she won’t sleep-  _can’t- won’t-_ ** _doesn’t want to- can’t-_ **

 

The killers have told her of what it’s like to dream in the Entity: how  _SHE_ cradles those she catches with her whispering teeth and lets her embers lick and bite at their skin with an actual sense of warmth for once in their pitiful existence. It doesn’t do much, there’s no dreaming or escape in the sleep and there’s certainly no reset. You’ll feel almost the same as you did when you woke up- tired and worn out, one side ready to give up and throw your husk into the void while the other side burns to thrive in this hell-hole. In the end it’s way to pass the time when idle hands, bloodshed and miscellaneous talks won’t do anymore.

 

Amanda doesn’t get a lot of that in the first place, but she’d rather spend her time nonstop repairing and breaking her traps if it means she’s allowed to skip the Entity’s cruel joke of ‘sleep’. The sleep for her is different, and she can’t help but wonder if she’s the only one when she says  _different_ . There is no lull of whispers or embers kissing her cheeks but rather the harsh reality of every little thing she’s ever done in her sad little life. Another test, another victim, guilt in her small pale body, more blood, cutting her wrists, and more carnage as a trap pulls another into their death- failing Kramer’s little tests of ‘survival’ and Amanda lets her wrists  _bleed under the-_

 

Kramer. John. John Kramer. Mentor, father, and the epitome of everything she loved  _[and despised]_ about herself.

 

Why did she let him take her under his wing? _[You know why you_ ** _disgusting dependent little-_** _]_

 

In her time alive Amanda idolized the man, adored every aspect and fiber of his  _[shitty, hypocritical-]_ **perfect**  being.

 

John Kramer helped her in every sense she needed in her moments of life before  _[he tricked you and hurt you, remem-???]_ the Entity had grabbed her a few seconds after the promise of death. The man saved her from her heroin addiction, gave her a home, a purpose, a reason to live beyond the daily adrenaline she pushed on herself to keep herself going. The thrill of drugs, of alcohol, of cigarettes and sex turned into the desire to make John proud of her; the little girl in her desperate for the attention of the closest she’d gotten to a father figure in her entire life. Amanda was annoying, nagging almost in how much she desperately called his name to gain his gaze for even a second- just a second was enough. Showing off her ideas for traps or upgrades for the precious Reverse Bear Trap and gaining even a hum of interest or a quiet  _‘I see’_  from him was enough to make her grin  _[and bear it]_ for hours.

 

The work was hard, killing in the beginning was even harder, each time she saw a prisoner of Kramer’s designs, it felt like she was staring into a mirror. Fear laced in their eyes, pathetic panicked breathing caught in their throats, the need to survive but only enough will to give up. Amanda took pity only once in her time with John, and that was in the miserable Adam Stanheight. The man who was placed in the bathroom she lovingly lived above, the man who was left behind by John to rot away into nothing due to failing his test. Guilt ate at her throughout the entirety of his little trial, it was the first she assisted with after all. Amanda was the one who hid in his closet, the one who attacked him and kidnapped him, the one who laid him in a bathtub and  _[in a moment of_ ** _sadism_ ** _]_ haphazardly tossed his only way of escape into the tub with him.

 

Nightmares of his ghost haunting her for the rest of her days nearly drove Amanda, who was already in such a frail mental state, insane. She had to go put him out of his misery, she had to give him the sweet escape of death she knew he oh-so desperately craved.

 

Amanda arrived in the bathroom, wrapped a plastic bag around his head, and  _squeezed_ with all her frail might.

 

The echoing of his weak body flailing around against hard tile, the muffled gasping and wheezing as she suffocated him, the thud of when in his attempt to fight her off he smacked his head against the toilet. It gave her the moment of peace she needed in order to finally whisk his life away and end his misery. Looking back at it now, Amanda wasn’t sure if the drug addiction was the start of her misery, or if killing Adam was.

 

Whatever the case, it sent her furthermore into her spiral downwards of self harming  _[filthy, nasty habit- it’s all for attention isn’t it_ ** _you little-_** _]_ and her obsession with letting John Kramer control her life and every fiber of her being. She had nothing left: no relationships, no family, no friends- and she supposed that was a good thing. In the end all she needed was Kramer's little praises and her heart could live to go on another day. But once she died  _[by_ ** _his_ **_hand it was all_ ** _his_ **_fault- not yours- you did everything you cou-]_ things changed for her. It was at times, difficult, to live without Kramer at her side; she found very little to keep herself going.

 

But Amanda Young dug her own grave while she was alive, and in death dug the ones of those around her.

 

Here in the Entity, the only thing that made her put one foot in front of the other was the full blooded acceptance of her sadistic side. Enveloping herself in the warmth of blood on her hands, the fear in their hasty eyes. There was almost a certain thrill in feeling her blade slice through flesh and clothe alike, she particularly enjoyed watching it shift through a survivor's jugular. Watching them struggle was priceless; and If Amanda got lucky, she could kneel and watch as the Reverse Bear Trap ripped open the maws of another victim at the pace of the timer racing like a heart monitor. The sick crunching sound was what constantly haunted the back of her mind, the wet ripping noise of muscle and the slipping spill of blood that all laid way to a carnage  _[but you_ ** _like_ **_seeing that, don’t you?]._

 

It was all a gentle reminder of the series of events that set her life in motion, everything around her from the Billy dolls to her short pixie cut hair, it all reminded her of Kramer. Reminded her of the need to continue his life’s work.

 

But it was a reminder that despite it all, despite the bloodshed and the chase and the thrill of the kill, Amanda didn’t want to be doing what she was doing. At times Amanda felt for the survivors, for the young adults who desperately ran around trying to find a jigsaw box before their head was popped like a soda bottle. She felt at war within herself. Amanda didn’t know if these people deserved the punishment and sacrifice. Only those who gave up on life, those who scorned Kramer, those who scorned her, they were the ones who deserved to be smothered into the ground. Amanda didn’t know their lives  _[and didn’t want to, mystery made it easier to kill]_ and couldn’t judge them on the universal scale of Kramer’s ideologies.

 

But Amanda learned what happened if you didn’t serve  _Her_ in the ways she wanted. She learned that very well when she sent a beast of a man  _[Myers, The Shape, Michael A. Myers]_ to gut her, slam her head repeatedly until her gore made an art piece of blood, fat, and skull shards on the wall. It was one of the many occasions where Amanda learned you didn’t die unless  _She_ wanted you to die, and it was one of the few occasions where she was forced to  _sleep._

 

It’s how Amanda learned to despise the cruel trick of sleep the Entity granted. For her, sleep meant no comfort or warmth, for her it was a repetitive video tape. Rewinding and playing through the series of events in her life that lead her to where she was now. It seemed to stop and repeat the scenes where she suffered the most over and over like a broken record until her mind was left with the searing reminder of how much of a  _[monster, disgusting bitch, murderer]_  victim of circumstance she was. The sleep was painful, an ugly reminder of her actions played  _again and again and_ ** _again and again-_ **

 

So Amanda avoided sleep. She put herself in her best behavior during trials, gave a fight for her life anytime the man was once more sent her way to entertain the Entity  _[however she adored the times he came on his own accord],_ and when she felt the festering wound of self-hatred grow? She fed the Entity with her overwhelming amount of emotions, letting her wrists bleed under the sink as she once more pitifully attempted to escape the void.

 

All Amanda craved, with her small dead heart, was to evade the Entity. She desperately craved the release she  ~~~~ _[_ _deserved]_ wanted. But she never would, in her vicious cycle of ups and downs, her sadistic highs and her deprecating lows- it fed the Entity.

 

And the Entity, who loved to be full, caged and kept Amanda the way Kramer once did.


End file.
